I just have a lot of feels right now...And they keep hurting Peter!

Warning- So possible triggers..? Maybe..?

Disclaimer- Honestly I don't even have any money. I own nothing.

Red and Blue and Black all over-

Peter can't get from under it. Can barely breathe as it moves over him. It's texture like silk. Soft, but yet slimy. It's mass shifting over him, rolling over his body like black waves, crashing back down on the teen's prone form.

Too heavy,

too moist,

too hot,

too soft.

It's like thick molasses, it's black tentacles tracing over his bare skin. Teeth ripping at his suit, at his flesh. Tearing away the red and blue to reveal pale skin; and the slight pink of scares that actually made it past the teen's healing factor.

Touching,

biting,

licking,

pawing,

scratching.

It was too hot. Burning around his body as it pressed itself to him. It was suffocating, a crushing weight that seared his skin. Left him panting for breath, his chest heaving as he struggled beneath it. It was wrapped around his wrists and ankles, keeping him still. Pressed to the cold floor, a contrast to the immense heat above Peter.

Hurting,

burning,

choking,

pressing,

smoldering.

Black oily goo pooled in the teenager's mouth. Pouring itself down his throat. Cutting off his cries. Cutting off his air…

Can't breathe. Please…

Sticky,

blackness,

smooth,

coppery-red,

blood.

Help, he needed help...

It was in his eyes, blocking out the little bit of light the boy could make out through the darkness. It pulled at his hair, ripping his brown locks from his head. It's sharp claws digging into his tender flesh. It kept moving, never stopped moving.

Crushing,

petting,

caressing,

breaking,

griping.

Peter's lungs wouldn't fill with air, no matter how much he begged them to do so. They shuddered within his chest, his heart pounding madly against his ribcage. The teen couldn't get his jaw to shut as he longed to bite at the Monster, his mouth forced open against his will. He tried to buck upwards, telling his hips to move, to thrash about, they couldn't. Peter's limbs won't listen to him, even as he pleads for them to fight back. His voice couldn't be heard even by his own ears. Its sound smothered out by the blackness in his throat.

Drowning,

thrashing,

scorching,

pleading,

crying.

Peter was dying, he could feel it. He was going to suffocate, drown under this black Monster. His heartbeat was loud in his ringing ears, his stomach rolling inside of him. Peter shuddered as the Monster ran its oily hands down his chest and stomach, it's unwanted touches going to his upper thighs, making his skin tingle with disgust and pain.

Unwanted,

vulnerable,

helpless,

violated,

disgusted.

The teen could feel his chest heaving with silent sobs. His eyes overflowing with hot tears that were then soaked into the black skin of the Monster pressed to him. Its movements were confusing, one moment the Monster was tearing into Peter's skin, making thick blood bubble forth, the next it was petting him, its touches almost gentle.

Confused,

dizzy,

lost,

hopeless,

dirty.

Peter needed help, desperately. He wanted someone to save him. To get this thing away from him. To tell him that it would be alright. That the Monster would never touch him again. That they would protect him.

Need of saving,

damsel in distress,

weakling,

not good enough,

just a child.

And then it happened. The Monster let out an inhuman shriek as trails of electricity coursed over its blackened body. Its tendrils withered as it pulled back from the pinned down boy.

Peter sucked in a gasping lungful of air as the blackness pulled out of his throat. His sight coming back to him as the darkness no longer covered his eyes. The Monster was still screaming, thrashing about as the electricity covered its form. It's yellowed teeth and white eyes glowing in the dark as it's body shuddered and morphed in agony.

Peter didn't care, he forced his eyes to look away. Begged his ears not to hear. Willed himself to be somewhere else, anywhere else…

Scared,

cold,

pain,

alone,

distressed.

Hands were on him once again, and the teen cried out. Backing away in a scurry of flailing limbs, his heart pounding, his ears filled with a hollow sound. It's noise drowning out everything else.

Crouched before him was Steve.

Well, Captain America.

He was in his suit, his helmet covering his head. The blond's hands were placed out palms first, a sign of peace. His stance soft, his blue eyes sad. Peter could see his mouth moving, but the teen couldn't hear the words.

Help,

please,

help me,

oh god,

save me.

Peter was shaking, tremors coursing over his naked body. It took the teen a moment to realize he was shuddering with tears. Harsh sobs passing through his bloodied lips as they heaved out of his bruised chest.

Steve inched forward, Peter could make out snippets of what the man was saying "be okay—want to help—you're safe—alright, Peter." The teen launched himself forward, pressing himself to the broad chest of Captain America, of his leader, of Steve.

Hiccupping cries of anguish were muffled by Steve's star-spangled-suit. The teen could still hear the Monster in the background, could just make out the sounds of people yelling angry and rage-filled. Peter ignored it, pressing himself forward trying to burrow into the man. Trying to get as close as he could possibly be.

Steve was warm, but not scolding, never burning. His hands were on him, but they were soft, never tearing. The man's body was strong, but not pressing, never hurting. He was holding Peter, but not pinning, never forcing.

Soft,

secure,

safe,

saved,

Steve.